


The Dragon of Amestris

by notbug (KageKashu)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Other, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:31:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1591790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKashu/pseuds/notbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy came away from the Ishval Civil War with more than just an aversion to meat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline will vaguely follow that of the manga.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy dreams of Ishval.

_The sand grit beneath his feet, and Roy's fingers twitched, seeking the strap of his canteen. It was gone, he remembered; left behind, at the edges of camp, to a red-eyed child with the rest of his rations. For a moment, he regretted the impulsiveness of leaving something so important behind. Then, as he licked his lips, the oily taste of charred flesh still on them, he remembered why he was doing this. He just couldn't handle it any longer, so he walked out. Behind him, there was nothing but sound and fury, while before him, there was only the desert_

_Hours later, his protective overcoat was long since shed, and Roy's fingers picked numbly at the buttons of his uniform. Sweat dripped from his every pore, and when he finally managed to open the jacket, it brought him little relief. The Ishvarite sun glared down on him mercilessly. He threw off the jacket. It wasn't doing him any good anyway. The sounds of battle were long behind him; he had found the silence he sought. He kept walking._

_He kept walking until his head swam, and he could no longer stand. His lips were dry and cracked, and his swollen tongue was beyond movement. Even his eyes tried to refuse to remain open. In front of him, he could dimly see the gloved fingers of his right hand, twitching in an approximation of a snap. There was just enough friction for the gloves to spark._

Fire, _he thought. Shouldn't he hate it? His fingers continued rubbing back and forth, generating a spark that he didn't plan to use. It wasn't the fire's fault, he decided deliriously. It was his. Everything he had done with the fire, he could only blame on himself, because the fire had no will of its own. The screams of the Ishvalans, the scent of their burning flesh - even as he thought it, his stomach turned rebelliously - the way the fat from the burnt bodies stuck on his lips, tainting everything that tried to pass them; all of it was him, not the fire. Besides, he wondered, watching each and every spark alight and dissipate before his eyes, how could he hate something so beautiful? He could hate what he wrought with it all he wanted, but he could never blame the fire itself. After all, fire was life as much as it was death._

_Roy laid there for minutes, hours, days, watching the sparks. He was waiting for unconsciousness to take him for, he suspected, the last time. He lay sprawled out across the sand, completely exposed to the elements, and it wasn't, and it wasn't like he had been doing well before he had set out. When, he wondered, had he even fallen? He didn't remember. He didn't remember night falling either, but it was clearly morning._

_The sun, usually so harsh, warmed his bones like the hands of a lover. Soon, it would be scorching, but for now, it was nothing short of lovely, in spite of everything else. His head throbbed, and he still could barely move, but he had forgotten what it was like for the blood in his head not to pound. The pain was a distant thing, anyway. More importantly..._

_Snap._

_He watched his fingers._

_Snap._

* * *

The slightly sharper crack of a gloveless snap jolted him out of his nap, and Roy found himself drooling on his paperwork. Right, another lazy day at work, and here he was, dreaming of the desert again. _Good one, Mustang,_ he congratulated himself as he forced his body into an upright position. The first thing he saw was Hawkeye's hard stare, and he smiled gamely. A tiny frown graced her lips for an instant before she sighed. "Lieutenant," he purred, "have you ever felt like every waking moment spent behind a desk is a moment wasted? Why are we here, Lieutenant, on such a lovely day?" Without waiting for her response, he leapt to his feet, circling around the desk, and then Hawkeye, whose lovely frown had already returned. "We should be outdoors, should we not?" 

"You have writing on your face," she told him seriously, and when his hand flew to his cheek as if to check, she continued, "but if you want to do a surprise inspection of the barracks, there's one coming up and it will fill an important part of your schedule." 

"Not quite what I meant," he mused, "but I'll take what I can get. I think we should take Falman for this. He has good memory, does he not?" 

"So I've observed," she agreed, and took a handkerchief to his face. "A colonel should always be tidy." 

"Ah, yes," he replied, and then they were heading out of his office. Roy tried not to smirk as he observed the signal she gave the rest of his subordinates, meaning "danger passed" and "all clear". It was probably the snapping, he thought. Most times when he woke up doing that, he was dreaming of the battles rather than the desert. It often left him in a sour mood for the rest of the day. Today, however, he didn't feel half bad, so he didn't mind commandeering most of his staff for a random surprise inspection of first, the barracks, and then, he would hit up every single place he felt needed one until it was time to send everyone home. 

On a bad day, doing inspections just left him angrier than when he started, and a lot of people would scurry in front of him like rats, seeking places to hide until he passed. On a day such as today... The only thing more terrifying than a superior officer in a snit that's actually looking for something wrong is one who thoroughly enjoys scaring the shit out of you. 

"Who even chills their underwear?" he asked, finding a pair in a communal refrigerator. 

"Someone with an uncomfortable condition, I gather," Havoc replied, grinning. He actually enjoyed when his superior officer went on these kind of rampages. After all, he hadn't been in the barracks for years. Falman and Fuery didn't care because they had nothing to fear, and, like Havoc, neither Breda nor Hawkeye dwelt there. The next possible worry on the list were the Elrics, who, when in East City, lived in the officer's section of the barracks, and it was unlikely that Colonel Mustang would bypass the opportunity to harass Ed. 

No one dared to comment that he skipped a large portion of the barracks to get to Fullmetal's door just a little earlier. Not bothering to contain his grin, he flung the door open, only to freeze at what he saw. He really needed to stop thinking of Edward as a kid, he supposed; after all, the blond was filling out very nicely. He observed, in grinning silence, the fact that Ed's pants were only half on, and the young man was just standing there, awkward and staring, just as frozen as Roy. The actual room was much neater than expected, so he cheerfully said, "Pass!" And then he shut the door. 

On the other side of the door, and out of his sight, an exchange was taking place between the Fullmetal Alchemist and his brother. "Is it just me, or does he get weirder every time we see him?" 

"I don't know, but for some reason, I really wanted to smack that grin off of his face." 

"Al, you really got to work on those violent tendencies of yours." 

_Smack!_

Outside, Roy was just finishing up the last room in the hall, and clucking in disappointment. "That a pair of unsupervised teenagers has the cleanest room in this hall is an embarrassment, people! Come on, have a little pride in yourselves. Fail, fail, fail, only not failing because I'm just that nice. Fail." Behind him, Havoc sniggered and Falman dutifully marked down Roy's judgment before Hawkeye directed him to the next item on the agenda. 

A couple hours later, Roy was planning on a little unscheduled overtime, but Hawkeye lived up to her name and refused to abandon him in the command center without someone else from their team to keep an eye on him, because the last time she had done so, she had returned to find a scale model of Central's red light district in the officer's mess. She wasn't about to let him find some new way to try and horrify the upper chain of command, even if she had to watch his every move when he decided to clock overtime. It was just her luck (even though she hadn't stayed, and it was Breda who actually had to deal with the consequences) that Edward decided to try to sneak in and leave his report on the colonel's desk while he was out - except that he wasn't out, and Roy was highly amused by this. 

When Edward clearly hadn't been expecting his presence, it was even better. "It's good to see you, diligently coming in so late," he told the younger alchemist with a smirk. "It's like you knew I would be in late today. You may as well give me your report while we're both being so industrious." He could almost see the way Ed's hackles rose at that, and was that a hissing sound coming out of the young man's mouth? Perhaps he had overestimated the boy's level of maturity, earlier. 

"Why are you even here?!" Edward finally shouted, no doubt rousting those who had spent the afternoon napping and had forgotten to go home. 

From the next room, they heard Breda's loud mutter of, "That's what I'm wondering." 

"An industrious mood fell upon me today. I didn't see any reason to waste it." What Ed didn't know was that the inspections of earlier in the day had been a bid to avoid paperwork, as per usual. He had been feeling very industrious, and that could be disastrous on his plans. Imperiously, he beckoned, "Report?" 

* * *

Roy had the utmost of respect for Edward Elric, but unfortunately for the boy, he was far too fun to rile up. It really was too bad that he had actually had something for the young alchemist, this time, but it had given him opportunity to bait Ed. It was likely that Edward would be miserable in Liore, what with the automail and all, but there was little to be done for it. Better the desert than Mt. Briggs. He hoped that he would never have to send the boy there. General Armstrong would eat a cocky young upstart like him for breakfast. 

The following weeks passed in a typically boring fashion, until the train General Hakuro was on was hijacked, and then a good share of Eastern Command fell into turmoil. Roy didn't share in the panic that took some of his colleagues - the men and women in charge of trying to rescue the man and his family. As he had been in contact with Hughes when the trouble began, he knew that Edward and Alphonse were also on that train, and, knowing them, they would be in the thick of things in the blink of an eye. 

So, when the General returned, mostly unharmed, Roy wasn't the least bit surprised. When the terrorist who had staged the attack got briefly free, however, he was irritated, though loath to show it. He and Edward lived up to their names, he supposed; Fullmetal being unsubtle, but still fully capable, and Flame being tricky, both coy and deadly. The terrorist, with his low grade automail, was left steaming (literally) on the train station's grounds, and Ed followed after Roy, once certain that the villain had been contained. 


	2. A Red Sheen (or Lunch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roy spends time in his office, grumpy as hell, and someone brings him something to cheer him up.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Roy Mustang scowled at the papers covering his desk, in a foul mood which had kept him company for days. These moods didn't often come upon him, but when they did, his entire office knew to avoid him. It would have been better if they proved themselves capable of reading his mind, because at the moment, he was hungry, and knew that it would take saying something to actually get someone to bring him something, especially with them all afraid of him at the moment. Even Hawkeye, in her eternal wisdom, chose to be careful about communicating with him. She brought him more paperwork, gave him a cursory explanation for the articles, and left, as quickly and quietly as possible. 

Tap. Tap. 

Worst of all, beyond his empty stomach and the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to keep to his comfortable, scowling silence forever, was the fact that he _knew_ exactly what was wrong with him. It was ridiculous. He knew that he was being stupid, but he couldn't help but feel... well, he felt betrayed, as silly as that was. The object of his affections, the one toward whom many of his thoughts often strayed... was in a relationship. It didn't matter that he had never said anything to the brat. The boy wasn't even legal, yet, and Roy _had_ been counting the months until he reached sixteen (when Edward would be legal in Amestris for most things, such as sex, gambling, driving - yet not alcohol, for some reason Roy had never been able to fathom. The age for that was eighteen.). Sure, as a State Alchemist, Roy could easily get away with seducing his underage subordinate with nothing more than a slap on the wrist, but that was beside the point! A man like him had _morals_. 

Morals that Edward wasn't supposed to mock by finding a girl his own age. One that he liked, too, because there was no way that Ed was the sort to even hang out with someone he didn't like in his free time. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

He sighed deeply, lowering his eyelashes so that his smoldering scowl looked a little less... smoldering. His stomach couldn't handle this. He could have taken it as mere, overheard gossip if he hadn't heard it confirmed by the boy's own mouth when Mustang's men attempted to tease him about the rumor. It was torture, hearing Ed's opinions about the girl, though they were shared with some amusement. A pretty blonde with large breasts and a winning smile - that's what he called her. Less enthusiastically, he admitted that she was taller than him, but went on to add that that would change soon. 

There was nothing wrong with Ed's optimism in that area, at least. 

Tap. Tap. 

His musings, which served merely to darken his mood, were interrupted by Havoc coming into his office. When Mustang pinned him with narrowed eyes, he could tell that the second lieutenant was about to retreat, as though the hounds of hell were on his tail... 

Then the man surprised him by bravely pushing forward, hesitantly beginning to chatter at him. It was, at first, a vague sort of report about the current goings on around the office, plus a few details about what was happening in the officer's mess. After that, it wasn't long before Havoc fell onto the subject of food, and without Roy having to say a single word - which Havoc knew would be disastrous, as the last person who had made Roy talk when he was such a mood ended up both crying and quitting the military due to trauma - his stomach loudly made its opinion known, with a surly growl. Havoc also knew better than to laugh. "Same as usual then? Alright, I'll be back in a jiffy!" 

And off the man went, with the air of someone unexpectedly granted reprieve. 

The incessant tapping of a pen had trailed off, somewhere in the middle of Havoc's chatter, and Roy held it still for just a moment longer, before letting it fall again. It took several tries to regain his rhythm, and soon he came to realize that he had drilled several holes in the page he had been meant to be reading. He scanned the so-called important document, wondering if he should send for another copy, and eventually decided that it could do with a few more holes in strategic places before he sent it on. With luck, it would be delayed long enough for the situation to resolve itself. 

Orders from Central were important, after all. There was no reason for _him_ to delay things. 

By the time he finished drilling holes through some important words and phrases, Havoc returned with a large, strange smelling package which immediately caught Roy's attention. "I figured you would still be in the mood for the game, sir," Havoc admitted, grinning around a cigarette. "It's got just about everything they had, holding the meat, of course. Kraut, peperoncini, tomatoes, half a ton of cheese and you know they had olives, so I had them put on those, and pickles, onions, and uh... Well, you'll have to taste it to see what else." 

It smelled mostly of vinegar and toasted cheese, and Roy felt saliva building up in his mouth. The game which Havoc referred to was actually "the sandwich building game", where Havoc, Breda, Fuery and Falman tried to make a sandwich that Roy wouldn't eat. While the only ingredient they weren't allowed to use in the game was meat - of any sort - they had still managed to make more than one street vendor nauseous at their combinations. With that in mind, Roy removed his gloves, making a gimme motion with the fingers of one hand while using the other to carelessly shove the rest of his paperwork to the side. 

Havoc laughed, shaking his head as he placed the foil wrapped package down in the cleared space. "We should be taking bets on how upset we can get the guy at the cart. He looked about to have a heart attack when I started asking for the hot stuff." He wouldn't add that the vendor had started looking truly ill when he asked for the feta. A question that had been on his mind ever since they had started regularly going to that guy's cart, however, was why he kept vending there, even when, on a near daily basis, a Mustang Special Order came through. He supposed that it wasn't his problem, either way. 

The colonel, on the other hand, dug right in, with nary a flinch. In fact, he looked happier than he had in days, which was saying something. He didn't know if Mustang knew it, but when he was angry like that, the sustained rage lit up his eyes with an odd sheen of red - one that you had to be looking for in order to see... most of the time. Sometimes it wasn't exactly a mere sheen. He got worse if you tried to get him to talk, and while he wouldn't - usually - go after someone physically, he would verbally eviscerate those who didn't heed the warning signs. Now, though, as he munched contentedly on the overstuffed sandwich, his eyes had returned to their normal, shiny ebony. 

"That good, huh? Jeez, I really need to try harder." Havoc shook his head again, this time in amazement. Mustang could eat _anything_ , it seemed at times. Anything, that is, but meat. And he had been that way ever since Havoc had first met him. Red meat in particular bothered him, and he never went to barbeques. Just the smell of cooking pork could turn him from his odd but natural pallor to something closer to chartreuse, and he would then retreat as quickly as dignity allowed to find a place to retch in peace. Mustang was a vegetarian (or as good as), yes, but Havoc doubted that it was entirely by choice. "Should we try to overdose you on condiments next time?" 

The colonel just shrugged and paused with the next bite, pulling back with a faint hiss, eyes watering. "'zat wasabi?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. His first non-growled words of the day barely even sounded like they were spoken in Amestrian. Even Havoc's nod didn't stop him from going in for another bite. "Surprised me," he shrugged, slipping back into his happy place. 

Havoc couldn't even smell the sharp tang of the wasabi over all of the vinegary goods he had the vendor pile onto the sandwich, and the old feet odor of good cheese. "I think the vendor is growing fond of us, and I'm pretty dang certain he wants to meet the guy who's eating this crap." Really, that was the only explanation for why the man never turned them away. "He always looks scared when I approach, but it's kind of anticipatory, too. And he seems to have new weird crap to throw on there, every time." 

"Potatoes..?" Mustang asked, his mouth half full. 

"Eh?" 

"Does he have potatoes? If he has a fryer, I want potatoes on it next time." And sometimes, Mustang managed to make Havoc's stomach turn just a little when requesting additions. Then again, potatoes would probably cut the vinegar just a little bit, but... "And tartar sauce." 

Ugh. Just about to protest, he looked up and saw that mischievous gleam in Mustang's eyes. Havoc groaned. "Hey! There's no need to mess with me, sir! But I'll pass that on to Fuery, 'cause it's his turn to do it next." With that, he straightened up, flicking a lazy salute to his superior officer. Come to think of it, the vendor did have a deep fryer, and made nearly half his sales on cut and fried potatoes - one of the few things Havoc himself usually got from the guy. The real question here was whether or not Mustang would regret asking for that. He found himself chuckling again on his way out, and gave the others an oblique 'all clear' as he exited. 

Behind him, Mustang caught it, and shook his head, still faintly amused. The sandwich was actually better than he had been expecting, for all the vinegar and spice of it. The fact that it was actually _warm_ for once was pleasant. Warm food felt good against his hands, and even better in his stomach. It probably would have been better without some of the things on there - pickled ginger belonged on raw fish, not sandwiches - but the various cheeses blended pleasantly together, while the tang of vinegar kept their creaminess from being too much. Then again, Roy wasn't known for his good tastes except by the informants that he took on dates. 

He took his sweet, cheerful time finishing the sandwich before clearing away the slight mess he made. Then, instead of returning to work that he hadn't been completing in the first place, he shifted in his chair so that he could lean back, and take a nap. 

* * *

_"If it isn't the fire you hate," grumbled an unseen voice, "then what is it?" A great sand dune rose before him, forming into a giant, wedge-shaped head. Sand fell away from it, in parts, and exactly where an eye should be, the sand split, revealing a huge, ruby red eye._

_"Myself," he mumbled, his voice weak, his fingers still twitching spasmodically. No spark came now. He was too weak to brush his fingers together hard enough._

_"Why?" asked the thing in the sand. That wet, blood colored eye was focused on his face, which must have seem so very tiny to the creature. The eye itself was bigger than his head._

_"For the things I've done." It was nothing but honesty. Roy couldn't look at any part of the war without a sort of horrified awe and disgust. Everything about it, from the hot sand working its way into his boots, to the tackiness against his lips, to the sun that beat relentlessly at his shoulders and head, was tearing him apart. There was a harsh sort of beauty to Ishval, and here he was, helping them destroy it. Or rather, there he no longer was, because in the end, he couldn't keep doing it. Ishval's death would be slower, harder, more painful, without him there, but the atrocity would continue. He just didn't have the strength to be there for it. "Because I'm weak."_

_"Not what you are made to do? Or what you are made to be?"_

_"I am no puppet," he said, or at least, he tried to say. It was hard for him to even speak. "My hands are my own. What I've done... was done by me, and me only. My orders... I did not have to obey."_

_"You have wisdom and strength, child. It is best you not die here, by my hand. Return, and end this war."_

_His consciousness slipped away, and when it returned, much to his confusion, he was fully dressed, overcoat and all, walking straight back toward the noises he had originally fled from. He was thirsty, but not overmuch so, and strangest of all... soon he would be told that he had been missing for over a week, and for the rest of the war, in spite of his pale, northern hide... The sun didn't burn him at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sandwich game is a running gag that I hope to use time and again...

**Author's Note:**

> This is not expected to have regular updates, but if you have any questions or comments that you would like to submit anonymously, or if you'd like to try to prompt me into writing more, you can come to [my blog](http://asknotbug.tumblr.com) and tell me how you feel. :)


End file.
